This story is about an ex of mine and her one-day career working for a catalogue shop in the UK, but it starts with her brother. He had taken on a job at the local branch of [Chain] and quickly proved to be an unreliable and flakey worker who was routinely late and, even according to himself, not the most diligent when he was there. To no great surprise, he got canned after a few months.

To my somewhat surprise, my ex applied for a job at the same shop and was successful! However, she was working a one-month notice period, and a few days before she was due for her first shift, she got offered a job she liked better and decided to take it. To my greater surprise, she decided to work that shift. 

Me: “Why do you think that’s a good idea?”

Ex: “Well, I don’t want to let them down with short notice.”

Me: “The first day will usually be Human Resources stuff and training anyway. I don’t think coming in for exactly one day when you’ve already told them you aren’t taking the job is going to be that helpful for anyone. To be honest, I’m shocked they’re giving you the option.”

Ex: “Well, as I said, they must be desperate!”

Me: “Just remember, then, that you’re only there for one day. If anybody gives you any nonsense, then just walk out.”

She did indeed go in for her one shift. I asked her about how it went afterward.

Ex: “Meh, it was mostly fine until the end of it, although I didn’t really get to do anything.”

Me: “What happened at the end?”

Ex: “The shift the manager called me into his office and said, ‘So, you’re leaving us after one day? I knew I should never have given you a chance; you’re even more of a time-waster than your brother.’ I did what you said, though, and just walked out. Can you believe he said that to me?”

I think she was honestly the only person that didn’t see the snark coming.

Many years ago, I worked in a hotel kitchen. I was normally a rather lowly kitchen assistant, helping with the salads and preparation for the evening meals. I was fine with that.

One day, the general manager told me to turn up at our sister hotel at 8:00 am the next day. I did, only to find that I was expected to prepare breakfast for every guest — on my own, with no instruction and barely any preparation time. 

It may shock you to learn that things didn’t get off to a great start! The kitchen had been “professionally” deep cleaned by a company who had managed to break all of the hob burners but had not told anyone. So, I was down a major piece of equipment with no time to get it fixed.

I rang the main branch to ask for assistance.

Head Chef: “Just bung everything in the microwave. Oh, and you have to be the waiter and take the orders, too!” 

Things got steadily worse and worse. I blew up several eggs in the microwave because I followed the head chef’s advice. The dining room quickly filled with guests, but it was nearly impossible to do both jobs alone. The repeated bangs, cursing (by me!), and long waits meant that I don’t think that anyone got a cooked breakfast that day!

In my defence, if I’d had even the slightest bit of training, support, or working equipment, I might have stood a chance, but I heard the general manager say, “We won’t ask him again.” I wasn’t sad about that!

My wife and I are flying to Scotland for my cousin’s wedding. We are behind the emergency exit row on the plane. There is an older couple in front of us, and the woman is holding a plant.

Attendant: “I’m sorry, madam, but you’ll need to put your plant in the overhead locker. This is the emergency exit row.”

Woman: “I can’t put my plant up there. It might get damaged.”

Attendant: “Then I will need you to move seats.”

Woman: “But I don’t want to move seats.”

Attendant: “Then the plant needs to go in the overhead locker.”

And so the merry-go-round continues. I cannot emphasize enough that the only thing holding up this flight is a plant and a stubborn jerk.

Me: “Excuse me. Sorry for interrupting, but can I hold the plant?”

Attendant: *Clearly grateful* “Thank you, sir.”

I am reluctantly handed this time-wasting weed for take-off and landing. I firmly resist turning it into a hat for the lady.

On arrival in Scotland…

Woman: “Thank you for that. It’s quite a rare orchid, you know.”

Such a rare specimen, flying in a supermarket carrier bag on a UK budget airline — must be rarer than rocking horse manure considering its luxurious journey.

I work for a chain bar and restaurant that gives free refill coffee when you purchase your first cup. Today, whilst serving, I have a woman order a coffee. I know she is going to be trouble; she orders her drink whilst I’m standing in front of her pouring a pint for another customer whilst two more are waiting patiently. The foot starts tapping, and then the huffing and harumphing start.

As I pass over her cup, so she can finally get her coffee:

Customer: “This cup is cold; it should be hot.”

Me: “Sorry, all our cups are cold unless they’ve just come out of the wash.”

Customer: “I always have a hot mug; my coffee will go cold.”

We don’t have a limit on how many refills you get on your coffee or what sort of hot drink you choose, including hot water for tea.

Me: “You could put some hot water in it first to warm it up if you wish.”

Customer: “It’s common sense to serve coffee in a hot mug.”

So, I’m meant to keep all my mugs hot, just for her? Does she keep her mugs hot at home, ready for when she wants a brew? Or is she like everyone else (with common sense) who uses a cold cup and drinks it quick enough for it not to go cold in the first place?

Related:
Thermodynamics, You Take It From Here, Part 7
Thermodynamics, You Take It From Here, Part 6
Thermodynamics, You Take It From Here, Part 5
Thermodynamics, You Take It From Here, Part 4
Thermodynamics, You Take It From Here, Part 3

I used to be a parking attendant in a seafront car park for a council contractor — one of those folks you shout “get a real job” at, you know.

Summertime on the seafront was hellish — hot with surprisingly little wind, snaking between lanes of parked cars checking for pay-and-display tickets.

The job itself wasn’t tough. I had a handheld computer, a waist-mounted printer, and a holdall of sticky yellow bags, and I just had to type, print, bag, and stick. Parked cars, easy. Parked brains, less so.

Working in pairs for “safety”, we trundled through the overflowing car park, handing out fines and helpful tourist advice in equal measure. This was fortunate, as one of our “customers” turned up to shout at us.

Customer: “Why have I gotten this fine?!”

Me: “You were late back to your car, sir.”

Customer: “So what? I was only two hours late. You should show some patience.”